Matte Black Eyes
by Dani Zatara
Summary: She sees the man behind the smeared red lips and smudged black eyes. He sees the madness behind the white coat and glasses. Together, they can destroy the world. If they don't destroy each other first.
1. Chapter One

_Hello everyone, Dani here! So, this is my first attempt at any sort of Batman fan fiction. I've always been a huge fan of both The Joker and Harley and after reading some of the amazing stories on here I was inspired to write my own. I greatly appreciate reviews and feedback, including constructive criticism, as I want this to be the best it could possibly be. So please, read, enjoy, and leave me a little something when you're finished. And as you've probably guessed, I don't own Batman, Joker, Harley or anything from the DC Universe, however much I may want to. So, without further ado, I present to you…_

**Matte Black Eyes**

"Quin, I'm going downstairs to grab some coffee, you want a cup? Class starts in half an hour."

Twenty-five year old Harleen Quinzel slapped away the hand that was shaking her shoulder and annoying the hell out of her at the unholy hour of seven in the morning. Through her grogginess she heard an irritated sigh as the shaking stopped. Keeping her eyes closed and burying her head deep into her pillow, Harleen listened as her roommate stomped out of the room and slammed the door behind her, exerting more force than was necessary. Rolling over, Harleen chuckled to herself quietly. She knew perfectly well that her morning crabbiness bothered her roommate Deanna to no end. However, that never detoured Harleen from being extra crabby whenever Deanna woke her up for an early morning class. She enjoyed bothering the perky red-haired girl and had always wondered how far her bothering could go before Deanna blew a fuse and asked…no, no, no….begged for a new roommate. However, it was the second last week of the semester, and so far Deanna had held up nicely. She was a challenge to crack, but Harleen liked a challenge. She still had fourteen days to break the girl she shared a room with. That was plenty of time.

Unwillingly, Harleen rolled out of bed, opening her eyes only when her feet hit the cold ceramic tiles. After a quick stretch, Harleen reached over to her bedside table and grabbed the television remote, switching on the morning news. There was always something going on in Gotham and every morning brought word of another murder, robbery, explosion or something along those lines. Turning up the volume, Harleen dragged herself to the washroom and turned on the sink. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and stuck her tongue out at her dishevelled reflection. Stifling a yawn, Harleen quickly brushed her teeth, washed her face, and pulled her blonde bed head into a decently neat ponytail. She noted that her hair looked a bit greasy and she should have woken up a bit earlier to shower. However, she had chosen to sleep instead, and she was perfectly content with that decision. With one last look in the mirror, Harleen left the bathroom, deciding that she looked good enough for an hour and a half of class. Then she could come back to her dorm and sleep.

The first thing Harleen noticed when she was fully out of the bathroom was that Deanna had returned. And she had brought back two cups of coffee. Suddenly grateful that she still had Deanna around, Harleen approached the girl, who was sitting on the edge of her bed staring intently at the television. Harleen snatched a cup of coffee from Deanna's left hand and then sat down next to her, smiling as a thank you. It seemed that Deanna was so transfixed on the television; she barely even noticed Harleen's presence. The blonde woman zeroed in on the screen in an attempt to find out what was so interesting. Her eyes were met with the sombre images of a funeral procession. It looked like a big deal and it _had _made the morning news, so whoever had died sure was important.

"Well then," Harleen sighed dramatically, hoping her uncaring attitude would anger Deanna, "Who went and bit the dust?"

"Harvey Dent," Deanna's response was hollow, almost robotic. It was most certainly not the reaction Harleen had expected, never mind the one she had hoped to receive. There was a look in Deanna's eyes like she had just lost some great war or like her puppy had just died. Harleen bit her lip. So Gotham's White Knight was dead. She had her sneaking suspicions about who was behind the entire ordeal.

"He was murdered," Deanna mumbled, as if reading her roommate's thoughts, "By someone he trusted…You know, I actually thought that he could do this city some good."

"Well…" Harleen stopped abruptly, taking in what Deanna had actually said, "Wait, did you say that Harvey Dent _trusted_ the Joker?"

"What?" Deanna finally tore her eyes away from the television and fixed Harleen with a sideways stare, "Of course he didn't. That man is a psychotic freak."

"Then who killed Dent?" Harleen was genuinely confused. Had Commissioner Gordon gone on a killing spree last night? That would certainly be interesting.

"Batman," Deanna spat the words like they were poison. Harleen's ears pricked up at the mention of Gotham's very own masked vigilante. Wasn't he supposed to be one of the good guys?

"I bet the Joker didn't like that one," Harleen chuckled, earning a harsh glare from Deanna, "I thought he wanted Dent all to himself. I mean, he blew up almost half of Gotham just to get to the guy."

"Who cares what _he_ likes and doesn't like," Deanna hissed, standing up and heading for the door, "You talk about him like he's actually human, like he actually has a soul. It's a good thing he'll get what he deserves." And with that she left the room, slamming the door for the second time in what seemed like mere minutes. Harleen stared at the door, thoughtfully sipping her coffee and mulling over Deanna's words. After a few moments of complete silence, the alarm clock next to Harleen's bed began to beep like crazy. She got up to turn it off, noticing that Deanna had left the newspaper behind on the bed. Harleen knew that her alarm clock went off routinely on Monday mornings at a quarter after seven, meaning she still had fifteen minutes to get to class. Grabbing the paper, Harleen flopped back onto Deanna's bed and looked at the headline. To her immense surprise the front page did not feature a picture of Gotham's fallen DA. Rather, there was a frightening looking man with wild eyes and a Glasgow smile staring up at her from the paper. The headline above the picture was what shocked Harleen more than anything. It was simple and to the point.

_Joker Apprehended _

Amazing, thought Harleen. She had actually begun to believe that the Joker was actually unstoppable. That he would continue to pillage and burn Gotham until there was nothing left but a city of rubble. Again, Harleen's mind played back the words that Deanna had spoken only moments earlier.

"_That man is a psychotic freak."_

"Actually," Harleen muttered under her breath, "I've always thought he was kind of ingenious." It was quite true. Harleen doubted she understood the Joker and doubted she would ever get the chance to find out what made him tick, but she would have loved to have to opportunity to do so. He was just fascinating to her, a brilliant mind. True, his genius was channelled into destructive behaviours, but that was probably the result of a traumatic event in his childhood, or the use of severe drugs as a teen. The psychiatrist in her told her that no one could possibly be born like the Joker; dark, uncaring, inhumane, and virtually bent on destruction. No one could ever be like him without reason. What she would give to know the reason behind his hatred, the method to his madness.

A shrill ringing knocked Harleen out of her admittedly macabre thoughts and brought her back into reality. She lunged for her pillow, beneath which she kept her cell phone, and flipped open the tiny device.

"Talk to me," she spoke into the receiver.

"Where are you?" Harleen instantly recognized Deanna's voice on the other end of the call, "It's seven twenty-eight and you're not in class yet. I can't believe you're going to miss the most important day of the year."

Harleen's heart skipped a beat. She had completely forgotten. Today was the day her Social Psychology class would be given back their final thesis papers. She hung up on Deanna without another word and grabbed a sweatshirt from the closest drawer, slipping it on over her pyjama top. Today was the day she would find out if she had enough points to apply for an internship at Arkham Asylum. She needed at least a B on her thesis to have a high enough grade to apply, and she was quite confident she had received such. Harleen scooped up her backpack from the corner and headed out the door, twice as fast as Deanna had done. She slammed the door twice as hard as well; just for good measure.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it," Harleen cussed to herself as she literally sprinted across campus to the building that housed the Psychology Department. She knew she was going to be late and she knew she was going to look like a wreck, but she couldn't care less. Her stomach was in knots over receiving her thesis. Whether she was nervous to excited, it was hard for even her to tell. After what seemed like hours of running, Harleen skidded to a halt just outside the Psychology building and quickly composed herself before entering and power walking to her tutorial room, trying to look as natural as possible.

When she finally reached Room 129, Harleen took a deep breath and looked at the closed door. She could see her Teacher's Assistant sitting at his desk, calling students up one by one and handing back the fifteen page assignment. Licking her lips, Harleen opened the classroom door, feeling dozens of eyes upon her and almost liking the attention. The only person's whose attention bothered her was her TA, Mr. Diggs. He was a grade-A prick, to put things nicely.

"You're late Ms. Quinzel," he said in his ugly, raspy voice.

"Sorry Mr. Diggs," Harleen mumbled, "Someone didn't bother to wake me up." She shot a glance at Deanna and winked at her. The red-headed girl narrowed her eyes at Harleen, who turned her attention back to Mr. Diggs, who was now holding a red folder out towards her. Harleen recognized the red folder instantly. She had submitted her thesis inside of it. Happily, she hopped over to the teacher's desk and took it from him, noticing the sneer in his eyes. Harleen walked to a seat at the back of the classroom, not listening to what Mr. Diggs was addressing the rest of the class with. She was too nervous to see what was contained within the red folder in her hands. She sat down and stared down at the folder for a few moments before swallowing her fear and opening it up. When she did her breath caught in her throat and tears welled up in her eyes. Harleen could practically see her future falling down around her ears.

All because of the large, red F that was stamped on the front page of her thesis.


	2. Chapter Two

_Thanks to all those who reviewed and put this story on their alert list. I appreciate it very much. So, the story continues on now, and I will ask again, please leave me some feedback when you're finished reading this. Thanks again, and cheers! _

_--_

_Chapter Two_

She had been sitting very still for at least an hour, her eyes fixed on the bright red numbers that slowly counted upwards to fifty-nine. She wasn't really looking at anything though. Her mind could process nothing but the letter F. Her teeth ground together in deep frustration as her fingers continued to crumple her failing masterpiece page by page, over and over again. To say she was angry would be like saying guns weren't dangerous. It was absurdly inaccurate. She was livid. Vaguely, she wondered, if blowing something up would help to settle her nerves. To see something fall faster than her future had nosedived into the ground would be quite the consolation. True, she hadn't worked overly hard throughout the year, but to miss out on a chance to work at Arkham was just unacceptable. Something about the place had always fascinated her, and deep down she knew that her fascination stemmed deeper than the ghastly looking building. It stemmed straight into the heart of every occupant of that awful place; into every mind that was just waiting to be pried apart.

"You know," Deanna mused aloud from her side of the room, "Crumpling up your paper doesn't change the grade."

"Shut up," Harleen hissed back, not in the mood to be toyed with.

"I'm just saying," Deanna continued on, her voice lofty and her eyes scanning over her A minus paper, "That you're acting very childish. If it were me, I'd just…"

"If it were me," Harleen mocked Deanna's voice in a low and vehement manner, "I'd shut my mouth before you really piss me off."

"I'd just go and speak to Professor Henderson," Deanna ignored Harleen's blatant warning, "Although I'm sure Mr. Diggs has told him about the fit you had in class. I doubt he'll change the grade now. Anyone who would lower themselves to the immaturity level of…"

With a screech, Harleen threw her papers to the ground and leaped over to Deanna's bed, tackling the girl straight to the ground. Deanna screamed as Harleen's fists pummelled her arms and face. She could see blood beginning to stain Harleen's pale hands and knew that her own body was the source. Harleen was somewhere between laughter and panting as she beat Deanna in pure frustration. And when the close to broken red-headed girl began to cry, Harleen only hit harder, trying with all her might to crush Deanna's ribcage under her own body weight. Anything that would stop her voice from ringing in Harleen's ears.

"Stop," Deanna sobbed, blood pouring from her split lip, "Please stop…" There was a certain tone in her voice that made Harleen's fists freeze in mid-air. Deanna sounded completely helpless, almost like she wanted to die. Shaking, Harleen stood up, leaving her bloody roommate in a crumpled heap on the floor. Harleen took a deep, settling breath and slowly walked over to her own bed, never taking her gaze off Deanna, whose chest was rising and falling softly, indicating she was still quite alive. Harleen wiped her hands on her bed sheets and reached under her mattress, her fingers groping for something she knew to be there. After just a moment of searching, they closed around warm, sleek metal. Harleen pulled the gun out from under the mattress and whirled around towards Deanna. Weakly, and gasping for air, Deanna backed up against the wall.

"I _will_ kill you if you tell anyone about this," Harleen whispered pointedly, shaking the gun for good measure. She watched with satisfaction as Deanna swallowed a lump in her throat. Smiling politely at the roommate whose spirit she had finally succeeded in breaking, Harleen hopped casually over to the door.

"Where are you going?" Deanna croaked, stopping Harleen on her way out. Harleen turned around with a sly smile on her face and a ferocious look in her eyes. She stuffed the gun into the waistband of her sweatpants and gave Deanna a little wink.

"I'm taking your advice Dee," Harleen giggled, "I'm going to see Professor Henderson about the little…misunderstanding with my final." Deanna's eyes grew wide and her lips parted slightly, as if she were trying to think of something to say. Harleen made a clicking noise with her tongue. "Now, now Dee, what kind of shrink are you going to be if you can't even stop someone from doing something…_crazy_? And remember hun, not a word."

Harleen laughed once more and left the dorm room, closing the door softly behind her. She was sure that Deanna wouldn't tell anyone about their little encounter, unless of course, Professor Henderson wound up dead. Harleen doubted things would get that out of hand. And even if they did, it was common knowledge that Deanna disliked Harleen. It was hardly above her to start a nasty rumour about someone. Humming herself a fun little tune, Harleen set off towards the Psychology building, this time at a leisurely pace. She felt the barrel of the gun rub against her hip with every step she took and it only made her more giddy. She didn't keep a gun under her bed because she was paranoid. She was just careful. And she hadn't chosen to bring it along to her Professor's office because she was crazy. She was simply ambitious.

_--_

Harleen strolled right up to the receptionist's desk in the entrance hall of the Psychology building, with a respectful and innocent smile lighting up her face. The secretary finished up on a phone call and then looked up at Harleen, the bored expression on her face cracking into a smile when she saw who was waiting in front of her desk.

"Harleen," the secretary beamed, "How can I help you dear?"

"It's actually really important Mary," Harleen made sure her voice sounded on edge and close to hysterics. She had always liked Mary and often spoke to her for lengthy periods after her classes in this building. She was certain Mary would not hesitate to send her up to Professor Henderson's office. Still, she couldn't help but to add the dramatic edge to her plan.

"What's the matter dear?" Mary's voice was etched with concern.

"It's my final thesis," Harleen sighed heavily, noting the understanding that lit up in Mary's eyes, "I'm just worried that Professor Henderson made a mistake…and this is really important to me...Would it be okay if I went up to speak to him?"

"Of course," Mary nodded sympathetically, "You just head right on up. I'll page him and tell him you're on your way."

"Thank you so much," Harleen gushed. She hurried past Mary's desk towards the stairs. Professor Henderson's office was on the second floor and taking the stairs would be much quicker than using the elevator. Harleen took the steps two at a time and, once on the second floor, casually walked down the hall, to the final room on the left. Professor Henderson's name and title, Director of Psychological Studies, was carved into the golden nameplate on his door. Harleen swallowed the sudden anxiety that had welled up in her throat over her rather drastic plan and knocked three times on the door.

"Come in," hollered a tired voice from inside the room. Harleen took one last deep breath, convincing herself that she was doing the right thing, and then opened the large oak door. Staring at her from across the room, sitting behind his cluttered desk, was Professor James Henderson, and he looked quite bothered by Harleen's presence. Closing the door behind her, Harleen casually approached her Professor's desk and took a seat in on of the chairs situated in front of it.

"So Ms. Quinzel," Professor Henderson glanced at Harleen over his round spectacles, his voice gravely, "I hear we have a problem with your final thesis."

"Yes sir," Harleen nodded curtly, the blood beginning to boil in her veins as she watched the man who had placed the red F on her paper in the first place. He would be paying for it, make no mistake.

"Mr. Diggs tells me you verbally attacked him during his tutorial today?" Henderson continued a small smirk on his lips. "Hardly any incentive for me to listen to your argument, correct?"

"Of course Professor," Harleen mumbled, hoping to keep her intentions hidden for the moment being.

"Still," Henderson continued, "I'm a generous man and I am willing to listen to your complaints Ms. Quinzel." Harleen nodded, trying very hard to keep her lips from cracking into a devious smile. Originally, she had planned to simply walk into Henderson's office, point a gun to his head and make him change the grade. However, that would probably result in a police investigation and with even the slightest hint of trouble with the law Harleen could kiss her internship at Arkham goodbye for a second time. So, to save herself the trouble, she had been plotting during her walk to this very building. And she was sure her plan was perfect, in every manner. Henderson was an aging man, it his mid forties. His hair was greying and he had never been married. Harleen doubted he had ever slept with a woman, except maybe a desperate student here or there. And Harleen decided she would play upon those lines.

"You see Professor," Harleen shuffled her chair closer to Henderson's desk, shaking her head gently and letting some loose strands of hair fall away from her ponytail. "I really wanted to apply for an internship at Arkham and…"

"And you can't do that with my failing grade," Professor Henderson interrupted his student. Harleen noticed that his voice sounded the same, but his eyes looked distant, as if thinking of something else entirely. She certainly hoped he was thinking what she wanted him to think.

"Pretty much," Harleen nodded, chewing on her lip in what she hoped to be a seductive manner. Her ex-boyfriend had found it to be a turn-on.

"I'm sorry Ms. Quinzel," Henderson sighed, "But there's nothing I can do for you. Especially since it seems you haven't brought your paper with you…" His eyes looked at her up and down, lingering in some spots longer than necessary. Harleen, although cursing herself for forgetting the thesis, was not going to give up just yet. It seemed that snagging Henderson would be easier than she thought it would be.

"Please reconsider," Harleen pleaded, folding her hands over her chest. As she had suspected, Henderson's eyes followed the movement and rested where her hands did. Harleen tried hard not to think of how disgusting Henderson was as she continued, "I'd do anything Professor, absolutely _anything._"

Henderson's eyes lit up at the stress that Harleen had placed on her final word, and while he looked tempted, he didn't seem ready to cave just yet. Harleen was beginning to get impatient and in a very brave move, she leaned over Henderson's desk and placed a teasing kiss on his lips. As Harleen backed off, she noticed that her professor's eyes were wide. They may have been shocked, but there was definitely lust in there as well. Harleen made a quick mental note to buy extra strength mouthwash before heading back to her dorm.

"Ms. Quinzel…"

"All I want is a B," Harleen whispered, "No one will ever know…" As she spoke, Henderson rose from his chair and began to walk around his desk towards her. "We can say I did some extra assignments…some makeup work…" Harleen stood to meet the middle aged man. For a moment, they stared straight into each other's eyes and for a brief second, Harleen was terrified that her gaze would give away her intentions. Apparently, she had nothing to worry about, because before she could contemplate the situation any further, Henderson had pressed his lips against hers and had begun to sloppily kiss her.

Disgusted as she was, Harleen knew it was vital to keep her cover, so she allowed herself to kiss him back, hating every moment of it, but knowing that Arkham was definitely worth it. Henderson's hands moved down Harleen's back and came to rest on her waist. She felt his hand press the gun into her body a fraction of a second before she felt his kiss falter. A smirk played onto her lips as Henderson grabbed the gun without any interference. With the weapon now in his possession all Harleen had to do was talk.

"What the hell is going on here?" Henderson's voice had risen in pitch and he sounded scared out of his mind. Harleen's smirk only widened and in the back of her mind she wondered if her grin was even half as intimidating as the Joker's. It was a strange thought for her to have in the given situation, but she had thought it nonetheless.

"I don't know Professor," Harleen chuckled, "You tell me. You're the one holding the gun and getting your fingerprints all over it." At her words, Henderson dropped the gun like it had burst into powerful flames. It hit the hardwood floor with a sickening clang.

"Too late Henderson," Harleen's voice was suddenly hard and unfeeling. She was finally going to get what she had come for. "Now, I expect my grade to be changed to an A. I would have settled for a B, but then I had to kiss you. So, we're going to go with an A, and you're going to do it with no complaints or else I'll play the sexual harassment card."

"And what makes you think that people will believe you?" Henderson snapped back. He was trying to sound brave, but Harleen could here the underlying insecurity and worry in his voice, "It's your word over mine. And you're the distraught student with the failing grade."

"True," Harleen nodded. She had expected him to say that. "But you're the lonely old man whose fingerprints were on the gun that was pointed at me, the poor distraught student, whom you could easily manipulate; being the head of Psychology…you know how to get into people's minds, don't you? I mean, just ask Mrs. Turner."

"What has Mary got to do with this? You didn't pull this stunt with her, did you?"

"Did I seduce your secretary?" Harleen snorted, "Obviously not. I'm simply saying that she saw how stressed I was before our little meeting. And imagine what it would look like if I left in tears. And the only way I'm going to leave with dry eyes is if you change my grade. _Now._"

"Fine," Henderson had a grim look on his face, like he was about to throw up, "I'll change it."

"And…"

"And I won't say anything."

"To anyone," Harleen added onto Henderson's promise, "Because believe me, if you do, I won't hesitate to ruin your reputation and then kill you."

Henderson nodded and moved back to his desk, defeated. Harleen hopped around the desk to stand behind him and watch as he opened up his electronic mark book and changed her F to a well-earned A. With a smile, Harleen grabbed a tissue from the box on Henderson's desk and used it to pick up the gun. She placed it on his desk and gave him a wink.

"I'll make you a deal…since I'm a generous woman," Harleen said, mocking her professor's earlier words. Henderson looked up from the floor. "I trust you," Harleen continued, "You're a good man. So, I'll let you in on a little piece of advice. Clean out the bullets and the gunpowder. Then, burn the gun. It'll get rid of all the fingerprints."

"Thank you," Henderson nodded his head once. Without any acknowledgement of his thanks, Harleen left his office, a newfound spring in her step an absolutely evil smile gracing her features.


	3. Chapter Three

_Chapter Three_

"I've got to meet him," Harleen muttered, her fingers running across the vast collection of newspaper articles splayed across her desk, her foot tapping in nervous frustration against the cold ceramic floor. In the two months since she had first started at Arkham, Harleen's obsession with the Joker had spiralled out of control. She had an inexplicable urge to take the man's mind apart and figure out what it was that made him tick. Admittedly, most of the fuel for Harleen's unhealthy obsession came from the fact that the Joker himself was so close, yet so far. Only hours after she had submitted her online application, Harleen had learned that the Clown was to be jailed within Arkham. The fact of the matter was killing her. She wanted the Joker. And she wanted him bad.

A knock at the door of her rather small, rather shabby looking office brought Harleen back to reality. She made quick work of stuffing all her Joker paraphernalia into the manila file folder she had put together herself. Unfortunately, Harleen was allowed to view the file of any Arkham patient, present or past, except for the Joker, who was apparently too dangerous to even be read about.

"Come in," Harleen called as she placed the file folder into the top drawer of her desk, satisfied that her obsession would continue to remain a secret. The door opened with an awful creak and a woman, no older than forty, stepped into Harleen's office. Her dark eyes looked tired and her grey streaked ponytail was tousled. The woman took a seat on the sofa opposite Harleen's desk. It was the sofa where Harleen's patients sat when they came to visit her. Because she was only an intern, the cases she dealt with weren't too serious and her patients weren't any of the numerous high security prisoners Arkham held.

"Doctor Adams," Harleen smiled graciously, adjusting her thick rimmed black glasses so that they sat more comfortably on her nose, "How can I help you?" The woman sitting across for Harleen, looking all the world like someone who needed a psychiatric diagnosis was Doctor Ruth Adams, the current head of Arkham. She was a pleasant woman, instantly taking a liking to Harleen's ambitious and fiery attitude. Ruth looked at Harleen for a long moment, as if decided what to say, before she finally cracked a small smile.

"You know Harleen," Ruth's voice was even more tired than her eyes, "I think I need a break. This could have waited, but I really needed to sit down and not be bothered. I just finished a session with…" her voice trailed off, but Harleen knew exactly who Ruth was talking about. She felt a pang of jealousy rip through her chest and tried her best to not let her face deviate from the smile that still sat on her lips. Ruth did not start talking again and an uncomfortable silence lingered in the room. Harleen wondered what on earth the Joker had said to distract Arkham's top psychiatrist so much. It was certainly something clever. Finally, Harleen grew sick of the quiet.

"Doctor Adams?" she spoke softly, trying to seem concerned instead of amused, "You were saying?"

"Oh, right," Ruth shook her head, as if trying to shake off a bad dream, and her smile returned, "I came here to congratulate you, Harleen."

"Congratulate me?" Harleen was puzzled. Had she missed something?

"Yes," Ruth nodded, "You remember Roger Barrett, don't you? After you gave us the thumbs up, we gave him one last quick examination and we successfully reintroduced him to society. His son is caring for him and says he's doing wonderful, taking all his pills with no complaints. He hasn't had an outburst in almost two weeks."

"Wow," Harleen bit her lip thoughtfully, "Really? That's fantastic, really good to hear." She wasn't really interested in Roger Barrett or his son. What she was really interested in was finding out why the Joker liked to blow things up.

"Isn't it?" Ruth smiled happily and Harleen could see that it was forced, that Doctor Adams was still thinking about her meeting with the Joker. The curiosity was literally driving Harleen insane. She just had to know what that man was all about.

"Doctor," Harleen mustered all the strength she could into her voice, yet it still sounded like a squeak, "Can I ask you a question?" Ruth surveyed Harleen for a thoughtful moment before her smile vanished and was replaced with a small frown.

"You want to know about the Joker," Ruth said. Harleen couldn't help the widening of her eyes. Was she really that obvious? "Don't worry," Ruth shook her head, "All the other doctors have already asked me what he's like. I always ask them if they'd like to listen in on one of my sessions with him, but they always refuse. Everyone's scared of him. I…I don't blame them."

"I'm not scared," Harleen blurted the words out before she could stop them. She instantly bit her lip, to stop any more outbursts that could compromise her Joker worship.

"No?" Ruth sounded surprised, "That's very interesting, Doctor Quinzel. Why not?"

"I'm not sure," Harleen answered honestly, speaking slowly, trying to make herself actually sound unsure. "You said…" Harleen tried to keep her voice from quivering in excitement, "You said you offer the other doctors a chance to listen in…Would it be too much to ask for…"

"Harleen," Ruth's frown grew, "I don't think that's a very good idea." Harleen felt her heart drop. This was her one chance to meet the Joker and it was slowly creeping away before she even had the chance to grab at it. She would not allow this to happen. But she couldn't seem too eager or she'd probably end up in Roger Barrett's now unoccupied cell.

"But Doctor Adams," Harleen continued as calmly as possible, "I think it would be a very helpful learning experience. And…and I don't want to actually talk to him. I'll just listen from outside the cell."

"Are you sure you can handle it Harleen?" Doctor Adams looked concerned, but not entirely unconvinced. She knew Harleen was dedicated, intelligent, and level headed. And, of course, Ruth prided herself on being a very good judge of character. Besides, there could be no harm in just listening, could there?

"Yes," Harleen nodded confidently to match her tone of voice. Her mind was racing with the possibilities of what doors this meeting could unlock in the future.

"Very well then," Ruth stood very suddenly, "Let's get going. I told him I was going to get a quick bite to eat. He expects me back before he gets bored."

_--_

"Welcome back Doc-_tor_," Harleen heard the chilling voice from her place outside the Joker's cell. She stood next to one of the four guards constantly watching the maximum security padded prison. She had heard the Joker speak before, but only over the television. In person, he sounded much more frightening, much more like a true madman. Doctor Adams had insisted that Harleen bring along a notepad to jot things down, and that point was the first to be put to the paper.

"How was your, uh, lunch?" Harleen heard the smacking sound of his lips and shuddered involuntarily. For a brief moment, she wondered if coming down here had been a good idea. Of course, she decided that it had.

"It was good," Doctor Adams' voice came from inside the room. The room was soundproof and the fact that Harleen could hear the conversation from inside was due to the fact that dozens of little microphones were planted all over the walls and ceilings. One of the guards had told her he only worked the dayshift because the things that the Joker said in his sleep were too much for him to handle. Harleen knew he wasn't exaggerating.

"What'd ya have?"

"A sandwich," Ruth answered in a calm voice, not at all betraying her lie.

"Was it…" another smack of the lips, "Was it tasty?"

"I'm the one who's supposed to be asking the questions," Ruth replied.

"What was in your, uh, your sandwi-_ch_?"

"Chicken," Ruth answered. Harleen could hear the annoyance creeping into her voice. Instantly, she knew that Ruth was loosing control over the situation, after only five minutes. She moved closer to the titanium shell of the Joker's prison, as if it would help her hear better.

"Why do you lie to me Doc-_tor_?" The question was followed up by a hideous, high-pitched giggle that made Harleen close her eyes. "I'm not…I'm not dumb, ya know? You brought someone with ya, didn't ya?"

"No." There was an edge of nervousness in Ruth's voice. It matched the feeling in Harleen's twisting stomach. He knew she was there, but how? She was sure he had not seen her when the cell door had been opened. Could he read people that well?

"A little present for me," the horrendous giggle erupted from his throat again and Harleen was tempted to put her hands over her ears, but she didn't want to miss a moment of this disturbed conversation. "Doc, you actually care." He dragged out his last word and ended his sentence with an extra-load smack of his lips.

"There's no one there," Ruth insisted, "Now, can we…"

"I can see it in your, uh, in your eyes," a serpentine hiss lingered on his tongue, "You're being _extra_ careful. What's. Her. Name?"

"There's no one there," Ruth repeated angrily, "You're just losing your mind."

"No, no I am not," the Joker's reply was so quiet that Harleen had barely heard it, "Now, tell me…her name."

"We're done here," Ruth said. Harleen heard the scraping of a chair against the linoleum floor and Ruth's footsteps as she turned away from the Joker and headed towards the door.

"The next time you, uh, you turn your back on me," the Joker was speaking as Ruth walked away, "I'll stick a knife…right in your _spine_." The threat was followed by a mad fit of murderous giggles. The door to the cell opened and Ruth hurried out, the guards closing the door right behind her, watching her as though she may have a nervous breakdown at any moment. Harleen rushed to her side, as soon as she was sure the door was secure and the Joker would not see her.

"I'm so sorry Doctor Adams," Harleen whispered, noticing how hoarse her own voice sounded, "I shouldn't have come." Of course, she didn't completely mean that.

"It's not your fault," Ruth told her as they waved goodbye to the guards and walked to the elevator, "He's just…he's just really good." Harleen nodded as the elevator arrived and the doors hissed open. She couldn't stop staring at the Joker's cell as the doors closed. There was an incredible man hidden behind those doors. And Harleen was going to meet him, talk to him, and stump him. She would gain access to the Joker and she would stop at nothing to do so.

_--_

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last two chapters. I'm glad that you all like it so far. Please keep the reviews coming, especially now that I've introduced the Joker. I want his characterisation to be as accurate as possible, especially because I have big plans for this plot. Any feedback and constructive criticism is welcome. Also, I don't own Doctor Ruth Adams. She is an actual character in the graphic novel _Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth_, although I manipulated her job and such for the purposes of my story. So, once more, thanks for reading and please review! Cheers! _


	4. Chapter Four

_Chapter Four_

Back in Doctor Adams' office, Harleen sat quietly, waiting as Ruth brewed a pot of instant coffee in the next room. Her mind was racing, processing thoughts at a mile per minute. So far, she had thought of two ways to get herself into the Joker's cell. One involved unnecessary gunplay and violence, and while it seemed like fun it was rather impractical. Harleen figured she would only resort to that plan if option number one failed her. Option number one was the level-headed, boring approach to the situation, but it would allow her to keep her job and keep herself out of jail. Harleen ran through her plan one last time just as Ruth re-entered the room with two steaming mugs of delicious smelling coffee. The older woman took a seat behind her desk and placed the mugs in front of her, sliding one across the wooden surface to Harleen's waiting hands.

"So," Ruth sighed, taking a large gulp from her mug, "What did you think, Doctor Quinzel?" Harleen gripped the mug tightly, drawing courage from any available spot in her body. Plan number one was about to be put into action.

"I think he's an interesting case," Harleen replied, biting her lip.

"That's a bit of an understatement, don't you think?" Ruth smirked. Harleen gave a little chuckle at the Doctor's words, before continuing with her own.

"This may seem like a lot to ask," Harleen began, instantly changing the mood in the room from light-hearted to tense, "But I would really like to sit in with him, one on one."

"Absolutely not," Ruth's back straightened and her expression turned angry, "He's a madman, Doctor Quinzel. He is manipulative, sadistic, and _dangerous_. I will not allow any of my employees to deal with him."

Harleen felt the anger bubble up in her chest and she tried hard to force it back down. Unfortunately, the good Doctor Adams was refusing her something she had been dreaming about for weeks on end and Harleen had never been all that good at controlling her anger.

"But Doctor Adams," Harleen began to argue, hearing her voice begin to rise. Harleen's case, however, was interrupted by Ruth standing abruptly, her face an irritated mask. Her hands were gripping the edges of her desk, causing her frail looking knuckles to turn pale white.

"Not buts, Harleen," Ruth barked, "What do you think? Do you honestly think you can crack the Joker's mind? I've been in this field a lot longer than you have, and if I can't do it, what makes you think you can?" Harleen said nothing. She simply kept seated, staring at Ruth with furious contempt. One thought was dominating Harleen's mind. Plan one had failed, which meant it was time to try out plan two. Things were about to get very interesting at Arkham.

"Get out of my office, Doctor Quinzel," Ruth's voice housed the same contempt as Harleen's stare. "And be thankful you still have your job." Harleen nodded and without another word, removed herself from Ruth's office. She would be back soon enough.

Walking to her own office, Harleen tried to convince herself that Ruth was simply stressed; that her angry outbursts had only been caused by the strain of her meetings with the Joker; that she didn't deserve what was coming to her. She couldn't quite manage to do so. With renewed purpose, Harleen stormed into her office and straight to her desk, beginning to shuffle through the bottom drawer. She found exactly what she was looking for; a pair of latex gloves and a semi-automatic pistol. Smiling, Harleen slipped on the gloves and placed the gun in her coat pocket. Before leaving her private sanctuary, Harleen changed her expression from devious smile to the well-practised bored frown that usual dominated the faces of Arkham employees. She retraced her steps to Doctor Adams' office, passing dozens of her fellow doctors on the way. Harleen could hardly contain her excitement. She was about to get away with her most malicious of plans yet. Sometimes, she scared herself. Without knocking, Harleen let herself back in Ruth's office. She knew the woman wouldn't appreciate that. Sadly, she wouldn't be alive long enough to really let it get to her.

"Doctor Quinzel," Ruth looked up from the paperwork she had begun only moments earlier, "What are you…?" Ruth's words stopped in her throat as she caught a glimpse of the awful expression on Harleen's normally pretty face. The young doctor stepped further into the room and closed the door behind her.

"I have an answer to your question Ruth," Harleen whispered dangerously, "About why I think I can get inside the Joker's head." Smiling from ear to ear, Harleen walked right up to Ruth's desk and leaned in close to the worried looking doctor. "It's because I understand anarchy." Before Ruth could reply, Harleen swiftly took the gun from her pocket and pulled the trigger, shooting Arkham's head psychiatrist straight through the head. Knowing she didn't have much time, Harleen screamed, a blood curdling, terrified scream. She hurriedly placed the gun in Ruth's hand and ripped the latex gloves from her hands, hiding them in her pockets. She backed up as far away from the desk as possible and put on her best horrified expression as she stared, wide-eyed, at Ruth's dead body, slumped over her desk and spilling blood all over the floor.

Within seconds, the doors to Ruth's office flew open and a herd of doctors and guards rushed in. Harleen knew that plan two had been much more successful than plan one. There was shouting and the sounds of thundering footsteps. It seemed that everyone in Arkham was heading up to this very room. It was perfect.

"Someone call an ambulance," a deep voice called out from right behind Harleen. She felt strong hands grip her shoulders. "Are you alright, Doctor Quinzel?" Harleen look backwards and recognized David Barry, the second in command at Arkham as the one holding her. She managed to nod, still looking shocked.

"I think…I think I need some air," Harleen stuttered, happy with her convincing performance. She wriggled free of his grip and weaved through the throngs of people crowding around Ruth's office. She needed to finish her plan before the police arrived and wanted to question her. Once free of the crowd, Harleen began to rush down the hallway, in the opposite direction of the elevators. She had one final stop to make before visiting the basement.

Harleen rounded a corner, amazed at how empty the corridors of Arkham were. She knew no one was there to see her, so Harleen broke into a run, heading for the door at the end of this hallway. The automatic doors opened as Harleen approached them and, as she stepped inside, her eyes were met with dozens of television screens, each showing a different high security prisoner within their cell. Harleen's heart skipped a beat. She had forgotten about cameras. For a moment, Harleen panicked, before her common sense returned. Arkham was somewhat under funded and security cameras were only installed to keep an eye on the high-risk patients. No one had seen her little stunt in Ruth's office. Still, she would have to be more careful next time; think things through better.

Harleen's eyes scanned the monitor's, looking for the Joker. She saw no signs of his painted face, but she did see the only security monitor with an audio hook-up attached to it. The occupant on the screen had his back turned so that Harleen couldn't see his face, but she could see the mess of tangled hair atop his head. That had to be him. Harleen figured the audio connection below the screen controlled the microphones that were used to listen in on the Joker twenty-four hours a day. Hastily, Harleen pulled the audio cables out from the screen.

Turning her back on the wellsprings of out-of-date looking technology, Harleen rushed back to the elevators, hoping she had successfully incapacitated the microphones. As she stepped into the elevator, Harleen heard approaching sirens and felt her heart begin to hammer in her chest. The doors closed and Harleen pressed the button that would bring her to the basement about ten times, as if that would make the elevator move faster.

Once the doors opened up again, the Joker's titanium cell came into her sightline. And, to her great pleasure, there were no guards standing outside of it. They had probably been called upstairs to help keep the doctors calm; not to mention the patients, who were probably freaking out over the sound of so much commotion. Taking a deep breath, Harleen jogged over to the Joker's cell and entered the numeric key code she had seen Doctor Adams use less than an hour before. She heard the lock click and opened the door, swallowing her fear, knowing that she was too far in to turn back now. Harleen entered the cell and closed the door behind her. This was it. She was about to meet the Joker, face to face. She suddenly wished she had brought her gun with her.

"Back so soon Doc-_tor_?" The Joker's malicious voice echoed throughout the room. He didn't bother to turn his head to look at his visitor. Instead, he sat perfectly still on his cot, pushed up against the far left wall. Harleen swallowed the lump in her throat.

"I'm not Doctor Adams," she said, her voice clearer and stronger than she had imagined it would be. At the sound of her unfamiliar voice, the Joker whipped his body around, as fast as the straightjacket would allow him to. Harleen's eyes grew wide at the sight of his face. His makeup had obviously been removed upon his admission to Arkham, but Harleen found herself wishing he had been allowed to keep it on. His face was possibly scarier than anything she had ever imagined underneath the mask. He looked all the world like a man, slowly being destroyed from the inside out. His eyes were bloodshot and seemed to sink into his face. Harleen had a sneaking suspicion he was not being properly fed. His permanent grin was the most prominent feature on his face, his Glasgow smile giving him a Cheshire-like appearance. The angry scars extended from his lips, halfway up his cheeks and looked a lot less comical without the red face paint to cover them.

"Then, uh, who are you?" he looked at her through unblinking dark eyes, "And why are you covered in bl…blood?" A small grin played upon his lips at the word 'blood'. Harleen paused for a moment to look down at herself. Her white coat was dotted with red, obviously blood spatter from Ruth. Making a quick decision, Harleen decided to ignore his second question, but figured giving her name could do no harm.

"I'm Doctor Harleen Quinzel," she said calmly. Her façade was nearly destroyed as a disconcerting smile overtook the Joker's features. He threw his head back and began to laugh hysterically. Harleen frowned and watched him as his fit subsided into tiny giggles. "What's so funny?" she asked.

"You're the one who, uh, who Ruthy-deares_t_ brought today, aren't ya?"

"And you're very perceptive," Harleen replied with a slight nod, "But that still doesn't answer my question."

"Can I call you Harley?" he chuckled to himself, his tongue running along his scars. "Har-_ley, Har-_ley…" he smacked his lips, "Who'd ya, uh, who'd ya _kill_ to get here _Har_-ley?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harleen muttered, suddenly feeling as though her mind had been invaded, "She killed herself."

Before either occupant of the room could say anything, shouting could be heard coming from just outside the cell door. Harleen knew her time was almost up. Very suddenly, just before the cell door swung open and a dozen police officers rushed in, Harleen began to scream, tears flowing down her cheeks.

"He made her do it," she cried as the officers carried her out, "He killed her! He killed her!" Harleen watched with tear-filled eyes as the titanium door was shut tight, listened over the rush of footsteps towards the elevator to the Joker's mad laughter. As soon as the door was closed, the laughter died and in the back of her mind Harleen knew she had successfully killed the microphones. All she had to do was go back and do it permanently. Harleen was shuffled into the elevator between two large officers, dressed in SWAT tactical gear.

"Are you alright Miss?" asked one. Harleen nodded absentmindedly. She was more than alright. She was content, albeit a tiny bit distracted.

He had called her Harley. Harley Quinzel. What had been so funny about that? Harley Quinzel…Har…Ley…Quin…Zel. Harley…Quinzel. Harley…Quin…Zel. Harley…Quin…

Oh, he was very, very good.

_--_

_Again, I want to make it a point of thanking everyone who is reading this. Please, don't forget to review now. It makes me a very happy person. Plus, I want to know what improvement is necessary. You're all fantastic. Cheers!_


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

Only a week had passed since the tragic 'suicide' of Doctor Adams, but Arkham was almost already back to normal; or as close to normal as an asylum could possibly be. Everyone who passed Harleen in the halls gave her a funny look, as if they pitied her. After all, she had been the only one to witness Ruth pull the gun on herself and paint the wall with her brains. Needless to say, Harleen had to keep up with her own charade of distraught employee and was getting quite sick of having to pretend to be so sad all the time. Truth be told, Doctor Barry, who had stepped in for Ruth, had made Harleen the happiest woman on earth by assigning her to be the Joker's new doctor. It hadn't taken much convincing on Harleen's part, as Barry was practically insanely afraid of the clown. He had been happy to pass on the responsibility of cracking the Joker's mind to Harleen, especially after he had driven four separate therapists to the edge of insanity in the last few days. One had even mentioned that he had asked for the 'pretty blonde doctor'. Everything was finally falling into place. In fact, Harleen had even be able to permanently disable the Joker's audio monitoring system; at least until the new one arrived next week, at which time she would have to stick another lit match into the input slot attached to the television screen. It was a worry that lurked in the furthest corner of her mind, as was the question of why the Joker had specifically requested her.

Clipboard in hand, and glasses neatly resting on her nose, Harleen exited the elevator and smiled at the guards in front of the Joker's cell. They all looked a little restless, as if not hearing the Joker surely meant he was planning something. Harleen wouldn't put such a thing past him, but he was completely oblivious to the fact that no one could hear what went on inside his prison. After a deep breath, taken to help swallow her excitement, Harleen entered the key code and stepped through the door as it opened with a swishing noise. She spotted him right away, his greasy mop of fading green hair a shocking difference from the stark white walls. He was looking right at her, through deep, probing eyes, and upon his recognition, his face cracked into an elongated smile.

"I was wondering when they'd send ya back _Har­_-ley," he grinned as she walked forward, to take a seat beside him, "Did ya, uh, did ya bring my food?"

"Excuse me?" Harleen's voice was layered with confusion, "Did your nurse not bring your breakfast this morning?" She felt something rippling in chest; something that felt strangely like pity. For a brief moment, a look of confusion swept across the Joker's makeup-less features, before it was replaced with one of pure elation.

"They can't _hear_ us, can they?" He chuckled happily, "What did ya do, _Har_-ley?"

"Nothing," Harleen lied, "They can hear us just fine."

"Don't _lie_," he said in a low, threatening voice, "I can _always_ tell when people, uh, _lie_ to me. If they could hear us, ya'd know I've been hollering for food…_all_…day. They're not trying to, uh, to starve me, are they?"

"Of course not," Harleen could feel her resolve faltering, even beyond her pity. He knew perfectly well that no one could hear him, which frightened her when she thought of all the things he could say. "Your nurse was supposed to bring you breakfast."

"I've barely eaten since you," he ran his tongue along his scars, his Cheshire grin widening, "Since you _accused_ me of, uh, of _killing_ dear Doctor Ruth. I must say, I. Was. Impress-_ed._"

"Who hasn't been feeding you?" Harleen let her jaw drop. That was just disgusting. No matter what this man had done, or apparently done, he deserved to eat. Harleen felt her stomach turn at the thought that her lies had caused him to starve.

"How'd you do it _Har_-ley?" the Joker pressed on, seemingly unconcerned with his empty stomach. Harleen felt herself grow nervous at his questions. She didn't want to admit to killing anyone. It would compromise her position as his psychiatrist. But that raised the question; did she really want to be _just_ his psychiatrist? If so, then why go to all the trouble of disarming the microphones, of resorting to murder, simply to psychoanalyze this man. Harleen knew she wanted more. And she knew what the Joker wanted to hear.

"I shot her," Harleen whispered, even though no one could hear her except for the man directly in front of her. At her confession, the Joker's eyes lit up and let out a gleeful cackle.

"My little _Har-_ley," he smirked, "I knew, uh, I knew you were _different_. Most people are afraid of the _cra-zies_."

"You're not crazy," Harleen blurted out. She watched as his expression turned from shocked to, if she was seeing correctly, interested.

"I'm in here," he whispered, "Aren't I? Isn't this the, uh, the _crazy_ house?"

"You're not crazy," Harleen repeated, "You know exactly what you're doing and why you're doing it. Crazy people don't have a purpose. You do."

"And what do _you_ think my purpose is, _Har_-ley?" he leaned in closer to her and Harleen could smell his awful breath and see his yellow teeth. And for some reason, beyond her comprehension, she wasn't completely disgusted.

"You said it yourself," Harleen muttered, finally understanding everything this man stood for, "Chaos."

"Chaos," the Joker echoed, licking his lips as he said the word, as if it were a delicacy. Harleen decided to go on, not even bothering with her clipboard. She was discovering the Joker, just as much as she was discovering herself.

"You like chaos," she said, "Because it shows people what they have; shows them how much they have to lose. And when people see that, they finally start to appreciate what they have. They forget about everything except for what really matters. And then…and then you take that away. Because people deserve to be punished. If they don't care about their lives, they don't deserve to have them, do they?"

"You tell me," he replied, "It seems to me that those are _your _reasons for loving chaos." Harleen paused to think for a moment, taking in the amused expression on the Joker's face, before her own face paled. He was absolutely right. She hadn't cracked him. She had cracked herself. Harleen stood abruptly and began to leave the cell. She turned back at the door and looked at the Joker, who still sat unmoving.

"I'll bring you dinner tonight," she promised, "But you're going to owe me."

"Anything for you, _Harley_."

_--x_

_Forgive me for this being so short. I apologize and I promise I'll try to make the next one longer. I'm a little distracted today. Anyways, please review. Cheers!_


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

"Your dinner's here," Harleen announced as she pushed the wobbly tray through the cell door and towards the Joker's bed. He looked up at her with a bored expression, completely focused on her face and not the steaming food she had just brought to him. Harleen pushed the tray against the wall and took a seat on the bed beside him. Her mind flickered back to earlier that day and she almost wanted to leave. Almost, but not quite bad enough. The Joker looked at his food disdainfully, sniffing it with apprehension. Harleen couldn't help but to chuckle at his disgusted expression.

"Ya know," the Joker began to poke his food around with a plastic fork, dulled especially for his use, "Ya've got yourself a sick sense of, uh, humour, _Harley_."

"How so?" Harleen asked; her guard suddenly up. She may not have thought that Joker was insane, but that certainly didn't mean she didn't think he was dangerous, even with an extremely harmless fork.

"Laughing at my _pain_," he smirked, "You're a real _sick-o_."

"Aren't you going to eat anything?" Harleen attempted to change the subject, "You must be…"

"What, uh, what makes you _th-_ink that I didn't lie," he smacked his lips around the short word, "Just so I could, uh, _see_ you again."

"Why would you…"

"I. Have. A fork…" he cut her off again. If it had been anyone else interrupting her so much, Harleen would have already screamed, but the Joker was truly frightening, in an amazing sort of way. Something about him captivated Harleen, even though she knew perfectly well that the more time she spent with this man the deeper she dug her own grave. Still, she decided to put on her brave façade.

"You wouldn't kill me," Harleen said, sounding utterly unconvinced.

"Now…now…now," he licked his lips between each word, his tongue darting out to play with those awful scars, "What makes you say _that_?" Harleen, who had been too busy contemplating her obsession with this man, had barely noticed him creeping closer to her, until their foreheads were pressed together, their bodies only inches apart. Harleen could see nothing but his angry chocolate-coloured eyes and she could hear nothing except his ragged wheezes of breath.

"I understand you," Harleen chanced, closing her eyes and preparing for an outburst. There was an outburst alright, but certainly not the furious one she had expected. Instead she heard cackling replace the wheezy breath and the sound was a hundred times more terrible. She pushed herself away from him, almost surprised when he made no effort to hold her in place. Harleen stood and took a step away from the bed, wishing she could remove that damned plastic fork from his pale fingers. She had a good feeling that if he had really wanted her dead that would have happened ages ago. Just to be safe, her fingers curled around the bottle of pepper spray lurking in her coat pocket. She waited tentatively for his gales to subside. Eventually they tapered down into small giggles.

"You," he gave another little chuckle, "You, uh, _think_ you get me. Everyone _thinks_ they get me…" He paused for a moment and stood up, throwing the plastic fork to the ground, much to Harleen's relief. "But," he continued, smacking this grotesque lips for the hundredth time, "No one _gets _me. _I_ get _them_, ya see? I, uh, I've got _you_…" His words trailed off as he grabbed Harleen by the collar and pulled her against his body. Before she could protest, he had his lips pressed against hers, kissing her with brute force. Harleen tensed immediately, terrified and revolted of the physical contact that was taking place. His mouth didn't feel right and the texture of his scars against her smooth cheeks was enough to make her want to throw up. Still, she could not manage to fight him. Her arms hung usually at her sides, not helping her free herself, nor giving in and helping her deepen the kiss. They were just two useless limbs; absolutely good for nothing. After what seemed like hours to Harleen's racing mind, the rough kiss ended and she found herself being pushed rather violently against the cell wall. Luckily they were incredibly soft and the only thing that hurt was the spot where the Joker had pushed her; her left shoulder. Hitting the wall seemed to reawaken her senses and Harleen looked straight at the Joker, anger and confusion written all over her face. She saw nothing except him staring straight back at her, a confident little smirk gracing his lips. With one last contemptuous glare, Harleen stomped out of the cell, wishing she could slam the door behind her. She earned herself many odd looks from the guards, but ignored them all as she huffed her way to the elevator, then to her office, and all the way to the parking garage, more than ready to go home.

Back in his basement cell, the Joker was still smiling as he returned to his lukewarm food. He thoughtfully chewed on a carrot before deciding it was unfit to it and spitting it back out. Pushing his food away, he lay down on his bed, his mind running through the rather productive day with his little Harley. He chuckled to himself, staring up at the stark white ceiling and imagining Harley's face.

"Yepp," he licked his lips, "I've got you _right_ where I want you."

--x

Harleen kicked her shoes off the moment she entered her shabby little apartment, throwing her briefcase aside and hurrying to her bathroom, taking off layers of clothing as she did so. Her coat, top, pants, and other garments were scattered on the floor, but she could really care less. The only thought on her mind was how badly she wanted, no, no, no; how badly she _needed_ a shower. She felt downright appalled by the actions that had taken place in the Joker's cell.

She made sure the water was as hot as possible before stepping into the shower, letting the water wash the entire day's events down the drain. She tried very hard to forget about what had happened, but she simply could not. No matter how much she wanted to, Harleen could not stop wondering why the Joker had kissed her. He was manipulative, so perhaps he was using her or trying to confuse her so that he could push her over the edge, just as he had to his other doctors. Harleen knew this was probably the right explanation, but she didn't want to believe it. A part of her wanted to believe that she had gotten through to the man behind the makeup and the art of chaos. She wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, the Joker thought about her as much as she thought about him.

No, she thought, as she rinsed the shampoo out of her hair. That was only wishful thinking. But maybe, if she could find a way to spend more time with him, then maybe she could make him think about her. Maybe she could finally crack him, before he cracked her.

Stepping out of the shower, Harleen reached for a towel, catching a short glimpse at herself in the mirror. She gave a slight smile, for there, right above her heart, was a tiny, purple bruise. She ran her fingers over the tender spot. Yes, she would definitely need to find a way to spend more time with this brilliant man. And yes, it would have to be something very drastic. Although, that never seemed to be a problem for her before.

--x

_So, what did you think? Please review and let me know. Thanks!_


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